


Youth

by Leaveitbrii



Series: Red and The Big Bad [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dropout!Stiles, Heterochromia, M/M, Magical Mama Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Non-Graphic Violence, Pack Cuddles, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale died in the fire, Tattoos, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaveitbrii/pseuds/Leaveitbrii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy finds him in the woods.</p><p>Or the meeting between Stiles and Derek that slowly transcends to being together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Youth

A boy finds him in the woods.

His sweatshirt is old and ratty, loose around him, hood collecting around thin shoulders. Wild brown hair blends in with the dark, short but present, eyes the color fire. Derek snarls at him, the torn flesh in his abdomen protesting with the movements. He struggles to rise to his legs, ears flattened against his head as he tries to appear threatening. Clumps of fur cling around his wound, blood proving an effective adhesive. The thick smell of wolfsbane hangs in the air making it hard to focus.

Derek slumps back down into the forest floor, back into the pool of his own blood, whimpering as broken ribs shift unpleasantly. The image of the boy blurs in front of him, the red of his jacket bleeding into his vision as the other approaches him. A soft cooing noise brushes over his senses, thin fingers pressing into his fur.

“They got you good didn’t they?” His voice is deeper, older, than Derek expects, he looks no older than 16. Derek whines when fingers prod the tender flesh around his wound and the boy gives him a sympathetic smile. The sleeves of his sweatshirt are bunched up around his elbows revealing dark carvings and tattoos. They give off a soft glow in the dark.

“It’s going to hurt.” 

Derek isn’t sure what else could hurt more than the hole in his side, the hole that wouldn’t heal. His eyes dart into the wilderness around them, the silence unnerving and a dark chuckle responds to his hesitance.

“Don’t worry. They’re not looking for you.”

Derek snaps his head in the direction of the boy, shadows collecting over his face as his lips curve into a small smile. Without much warning, without much of anything beyond a gesture of rolling shoulders, the boy plunges his hands into the wound, nails digging around and Derek howls, legs spastically kicking out as he struggles to breathe. 

The carvings in the boy’s arms shift, changing into various shapes while the tattoos glow a dull reddish color. Derek whimpers jaw clenched tightly. He can feel the shrapnel moving inside him; can feel them leaving his flesh. The pain is immense sending sharp shocks of electricity into his nerves. Derek tries to move away from the invasive hands but the boy has a firm grip. 

The boy strokes his fur soothingly, fingers slowly retreating with two solid bullets sitting in his palm. He drops them on the ground lazily then uses both hands to force the torn flesh back together. Derek grunts, a faint buzzing in his ear followed by the sickening sound of bones resettling. Discomfort replaces the pain and he can feel himself healing rapidly, skin stitching back together far quicker than normal. 

The boy’s hands are in his fur again, petting him gently, tender words of comfort whispered in his ears. Derek tries to stand, legs stiff from idleness, senses finally able to focus on their surroundings rather than the desperation of not being able to heal. Hunters had attacked him while he searched for food. He could smell death, the wind sending the stench swirling against his nose and he looks at the boy, who is now standing.

“You ready to go?”

Derek doesn’t know how the boy knows he’s alone or why he would think he’d follow but the boy is walking away, red fading into black.

Derek follows him.

 

xx

He discovers the boy’s name is Stiles and that he lives alone in an apartment near town. It’s bare, impersonal, the only furniture being a lone recliner that sits in the living room. It smells of Stiles and two others, smells like family and grief. Boxes of prepackaged food sit on the counter beside a microwave.

A week into living with Stiles, Derek realizes that he doesn’t sleep. He’ll wake up late into the morning to Stiles reading worn scrolls, inked with Latin and symbols he can’t understand. Sometimes he’ll wake up to Stiles’ fingers buried in his fur, eyes staring deep into the sun, distant and tired.

Sometimes Derek will hear him cry.

xx

Derek stares at Stiles, who is sitting in front of him, brow knit in concentration. There is a knife in the boy’s hand, thinly pointed, sharp as it draws blood as he carves a rune into the flesh of his shoulder. It glows a dull red color, the punctured skin healing immediately into a dark scar. 

He watches the skin twitch, shifting into ripples that flow down to Stiles’ hand. The arm spasms, bone fractures pressing through the flesh as it transmutes into an impressive weapon. Based on the noise Stiles makes, Derek realizes it’s a painful change. As the change settles a slight smile spreads across the boy’s face and he studies it carefully, eyes darting to a nearby wall. His arm extends rapidly, the fine point smashing into the wall with a disturbing crunch as the wall cracks around the impact.

“Shit.” Stiles gasps, excitement written over his face.

Derek watches it retract just as fast, tail wagging at the look of pure joy Stiles’ wears. Stiles breathes, body tensing as he tries to relax, arm resorting back to normal. The rune of his shoulder glows until the change ceases. Derek nudges his other shoulder with his nose and Stiles turns to him, trembling fingers smoothing back his fur. His eyes are dark, the amber color in one muddling against specks of blue and green. A side effect he had said, a side effect from too much trauma. 

Derek knows Stiles is too young for such burdens.

xx

Stiles takes Derek to his old house, the Hale house blackened in the memory of an ageless fire. It twists an old grief in his gut. He can see the imprints of body embedded deep into the walls of the charred basement, the claw marks scratched deep into the cellar door. Stiles doesn’t say anything as they walk, the creak of floorboards a reminder of their unsteadiness. Derek leads him to his old room, across from Laura’s, the emptiness a blanket over him.

He paws the floor, rotting wood peeling under his nails. The wall was missing on one side, various holes in others as evidence of termites. There were discolorations where Derek’s furniture used to sit. He journeys to his parent’s room, mind supplying visuals of where everything used to be. He remembers waking their parents up on the day of the anniversary with seven trays filled with various breakfast foods. 

It had taken days to plan, days of reading magazines and cookbooks. Cora and Laura fighting over who made crepes and who made hashbrowns. They didn’t leave the bed until late in the evening, all of them curled up on the blankets and there was so much laughter and happiness and their mom smeared sour cream in their dad’s hair when he mentioned not going out.

“My parents died too.” Stiles says quietly. “In a fire set by hunters. Witch hunters. They had been watching my mother for years. I… I tried to bring them back. It didn’t work.” That laugh is harsh, broken.

Derek looks up at him. The boy’s fists are clenched at his sides, eyes staring mournfully into the room. His youthful face is clenched in up in pain, tears threatening to spring. Derek wonders if that made it worse. Stiles runs a hand through his messy hair.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

Derek’s sorry too.

xx

The hunter falls limp to the ground, chest torn open, jaw dangling to the side. There are others around them, in pieces, nothing but shapes of red flesh. They had followed them to the Hale house, dark faces a blaze with obsession and hate. A cruel pack of men and women, hell-bent on sending Stiles to hell for helping an abomination, for being a witch. Derek could hear the desperation in Stiles, every inch of his body riddled with tension and pain.

The boy breathes heavily beside him, the thundering of his heart a siren in Derek’s ears. His shirt is torn, a bloodied clot settled in the middle of his chest that refuses to heal and another wound in his side. The air is rank with the smell of sulfur and Stiles grits his teeth as he tries to move from his settled position against the rotting wall. He whimpers softly, hands shaking as he clutches his shoulder. His magic faint, which meant he was utterly human. The wounds were oozing black, veins pressing against the surrounding skin like cobwebs.

Stiles looks at him. “Did you save me? You’re sweet.”

Derek doesn’t like the way he says it, how humorless and empty the laugh is that follows. Stiles hisses softly. 

“I think I’m dying. Fuck, it hurts so much.”

Derek whines helplessly, moving forward to lap up some of the blood. The healing properties of his saliva proving useless as the sulfur burns his tongue. Stiles curses loudly, tears filling the corner of his eyes. For the third time in his life, Derek is unsure of what to do. He knows that the bullets need to be removed, knows he’s losing time each second wasted.

It’s been years since Derek has taken on his human form, his ability momentarily stunted by grief, by the feral anger that drove him. He focuses, the painful receding of fur a clear indication of the change. Snapping echoes the empty house, the grinding burn of tendons joining together and bones lengthening, reshaping a loud reverberating noise in his skull. It’s far more painful than he remembers, probably from disuse.

Stiles eyes widen, the discoloration in one swirling curiously.

“Dude,” He grits his teeth. “You’re hot. My luck.”

“Don’t talk.” Derek sighs, moving Stiles’ hand to the side.

The boy allows it, expression brightening when Derek reaches for the wound in his shoulder. Without much hesitation, he presses two fingers inside, the strangled cry expected. Stiles grasps his wrists tightly, blunt nail digging into his skin but he doesn’t fight it. The tips of his fingers touch the tip of the bullet. Derek gives Stiles a sharp look and the boy bites down on his bottom lip, nostrils flared. Derek removes it with as much care as he can manage, Stiles’ scream piercing his ears.

“Fuck, fuck. Jesus.” 

“Two more.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, no. It hurts.”

“Stiles, Stiles look at me.” The boy does, tear stained, bloodied and dirty.

“Ok. Ok.” He groans.

Derek tries his best to comfort him, Stiles’ bottom lip splitting open under the pressure of his teeth when Derek removes the one in his chest. The carvings begin to glow faintly, relief flooding over Stiles’ features. He breaks his fingers as he grips Derek’s shoulder, mouth parted into a muted scream when Derek handles the one lodged in his side. 

“I’m so tired.” Stiles whispers faintly.

Derek thumbs away stray tears, watching in awe as the wound spark faintly, cells stretching to reach one another in a discolored scar. He worries when Stiles’ eyelids begin to droop and touches his face.

“You gotta stay awake.”

“Take me home?” 

Derek would move mountains for him.

xx

Stiles sleeps for four days, body stilling in Derek’s arms as he carried him, breath faint but present, growing louder with each step. He calls Deaton, an old friend of the family, suddenly feeling stupid for not having communicated with him before. In the years he’s been absent, Deaton had grown older, wisdom etched tightly into his face as if it were born there. He had Stiles on the island in the kitchen, bandaged up tightly as he sleeps. 

“You have a powerful friend.”

Derek shifts his attention to him. “He saved me from hunters two months ago.”

“I heard. The newspaper blamed a mountain lion.” Deaton’s smile held no warmth. “Funny how they cover these things. He’s the sheriff’s boy. Elizabeth’s boy.”

“His parents?”

Deaton nods, solemnly. “He dropped out of school after the fire. No one had seen him since then. His mother was a brilliant, beautiful woman.”

The man pats his shoulder. “You should rest, my friend. He’ll be awake by tomorrow evening.”

The scars on Stiles shoulder, in the center of his chest, his side will never fade, blackened veins spreading from them like cracks disappearing into tattoos and carvings.

If Derek could sleep, he would.

xx

Derek stops dreaming of his family, of the fire when he met Stiles, but on the nights when Stiles stays up reading books, leaning into him, he’ll think of them. He’d think of his sisters, strong and lovely, of Talia, of William. He’d remember their faces, the color of their hair, the way his father would sing in the kitchen while he made breakfast, of how happy they would be.

He’d remember the transfer of power to him when Laura was taken down, the realization that he was truly alone.

He’d think of Kate sometimes too. How she tasted of ash and pride when she kissed him, the smug smile, her cruelty. And as if Stiles could sense it all, he’d scratch behind Derek’s ear, eyes never leaving the page he was reading.

It was almost perfect.

xx

“So I was thinking of staying.” Stiles says, leaning against the counter, a package of microwavable ramen in his hands. “Like buying furniture and stuff.”

“A bed would be nice.”

The boy smiles at him. “Shut up, asshole.”

Derek thinks of the Hale house, his old house- thinks of how he could remodel it, make it safe, make it his again. Stiles nudges him with his foot.

“We could stay here until you figure out what to do with your place.”

He wonders if Stiles is psychic, if that night months ago connected them together or if he’s just obvious. 

“That sounds good.”

xx

Stiles cleans the apartment and Derek shaves his “hobo” beard in exchange for Stiles to reenroll in school.

xx

It’s when Derek is moving the last of the living room furniture in that Stiles returns to the apartment, a boy trailing behind him with a saddened expression. He reeks of discomfort, pain, betrayal. His round eyes focus on Derek and there is fear, fear and hesitance but Stiles wraps an arm around him, burying his nose into brown curls, eying Derek wordlessly. He smiles at him.

After Isaac comes Erica then Boyd. The second room in the apartment is filled with objects they all treasure, their scents mixing in the kitchen, the living room and Derek isn’t sure when Stiles starts cooking but it’s amazing and he can’t find it in himself to care because the boy is smiling far more and happy.

“I feel like we have kids.”

Derek’s mind lingers on the ‘we’. “It does. We should have more.”

They’re sitting on the couch, knees pressed together, the TV playing idly in front of them. Stiles is looking at him, one arm dangling uselessly over his knee. It’s the first time Derek has ever seen him look unsure, even when Stiles was transmuting his body into weapons or carving himself up or dragging teenagers into their apartment. 

“Are we a we?”

“Do you want to be?”

Stiles nods, the hesitance gone in a flash, biting his bottom lip and he moves from his seat across from him. He straddles Derek’s waist, a hand cupping his chin softly, tongue absently wetting his lips. Stiles presses their chests together, his other hand in Derek’s hair. Derek is the one to close the difference between them. The boy tastes like sorrow and honey, his mouth fitting perfectly against his.

“Hey, do we….Oh.” 

They break away, Stiles freezing in his lap and Derek turns his face in the direction of Isaac’s voice. His mouth is hanging open comically, hand steadily rising to his face.

“I’m just… gonna go. Floss.” Isaac nods.

He hurries back the way he came, the sudden slam of a door startling Stiles from his stupor. He presses his hands to his face and groans, embarrassment rolling off him in waves.

Derek laughs.

xx

Stiles meets Scott his first day back and brings him over. The apartment suddenly feels a lot smaller despite only three of them living there but Erica and Boyd cling to Isaac and Stiles like second skin and Scott keeps coming over at late times in the evening, the touchiness of the unofficial pack soothing in Derek’s mind.

“I want the bite.”

Derek snaps his head up, the book in his hand forgotten as Isaac stands in front of him, eyes trained on the floor. He notices Stiles in the kitchen, legs folded underneath while he sits on the counter regarding them with knowing interests. Erica is behind him, a manicured hand wrapped around his forearm. Her blond hair is tied up, eying him with equal intention. 

“You did say you wanted a pack.” Stiles hums from the kitchen.

He brings home two more teenagers aside from the one’s they already had. Jackson and Lydia. It encourages Derek to decide to renovate the Hale house, the bitter acceptance of insurance money funding the entire thing with plenty to spare.

Boyd joins the werewolf bandwagon a day later.

xx

Their first full moon together as a pack ends in bloodshed with Stiles standing over Kate’s body, his face hardened with hatred, with anger. It’s also the first day Derek takes him, on the forest floor amongst the dirt and blood and decay.

xx

Stiles is on him as soon as the door closes behind him, teeth clattering together, fabric stretching under forceful tugs. Derek allows Stiles to yank the article of clothing off him, dropping it uselessly to the floor- allows Stiles to bite kisses into his mouth until he’s bleeding and dry, to scratch marks into his shoulders, his arms, anywhere. 

Its days like these when he realizes how much of a child Stiles still is. They won’t go far, won’t make it to the bed and Derek holds the boy close as he cries into his mouth, body trembling. He won’t speak words of comfort, doesn’t know how when he couldn’t comfort himself, but he’ll hold Stiles and let him press his loss, his abandonment, his resignation that he’ll never be able bring his parent’s back until Stiles grows tired and crumples to the floor.

Stiles will let him into his mind, his memories and Derek will see the fire, see Stiles, small and fragile, dragging the lifeless corpses of his parents into the backyard, hands bruised and darkened with ash. He’ll see the only attempt Stiles ever made at resurrection, the disfigured grotesque bodies that smiled back at him, the screaming and lastly he’ll see how Stiles killed them again.

It doesn’t break his heart as much as Stiles blank expression does.

xx

Derek shows Stiles the renovated Hale house the weekend before summer break. It’s molded patches and wilting wood replaced and polished into a deep white marble. The walls are painted a pleasant shade of light brown, windows shuffling sunlight inside. Stiles mouth hangs open the entire time they walk through it, touching walls, rocking on the balls of his feet as a shit eating grin spreads across his face.

“Dude, this is amazing. Jesus, they’re going to love it.”

“I kept the original layout.” Except for the basement. He made it better, added various escape routes that lead deep into the forests.

“It’s amazing.” Stiles sings, tracing the railing of the stairs with his hand.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Stiles nudges his shoulder with his knuckles, lingering over the collar of Derek’s shirt. His eyes focus on the other’s lips, glancing up when Derek takes a step forward. The kiss is a simple gesture, hands slipping under fabric in an expansive search of exposed skin. Derek has Stiles on the floor in a matter of seconds, mouthing sharp bites along the curve of his neck.

Stiles inhales deeply, breathing a moan when Derek forces his shirt off, tongue flicking over a hardening nipple. He takes it between his teeth, applying a little pressure as large hands work the front of his jeans. Stiles whimpers, kicking impatiently at the denim as he sits up onto his elbows, mouth searching for Derek’s. 

Derek fucks him in the hallway, Stiles writhing beneath him, eyes lidded and dazed, a hand grasping the bars of the railing. He’s beautiful like this, flushed skin a stark contrast to his scars and tattoos. They change color wherever Derek touches; he wonders if it’s intentional. 

Stiles breath hitches, tongue lolling out of his head to lick the sweat from the corner of his mouth. His eyes lock with Derek’s, the steady rhythm rocking him into the floorboards. He touches the other’s face, his expression so fond, so beautiful.

This is probably what love looks like.

xx

Upon the first night of moving back into the Hale house, the pack crowds into the master bedroom. Derek had already been asleep, Stiles tucked under his arm. The dip in the bed wakes him, a tiny surge of panic swelling in his chest until he sees Isaac’s apologetic expression. His movements wake up Stiles, who presses his face into his pillow, opening a space between them. Isaac settles between them, Stiles fingers in his hair, Derek’s arm wrapped around them.

Erica and Boyd appear sometime later and he wonders why he gave any of them keys. Boyd’s head digs into his back, Erica sprawled on top of them like a deformed blanket. Jackson and Lydia are next, then Scott. Stiles sleeps through it all, his body radiating with a pleasant warmth as they settle.

Derek wakes up to Stiles’ laughter.

xx

Stiles never says ‘I love you’. It goes against what his mind registers as a good idea. He had said it to his mother, his father, had said it when they obliterated in front of him and he was left to pick up the pieces and he had stopped saying it. But there are days when Isaac would wrap himself around Stiles and sleep, days when Boyd sits with him in the study of Derek’s home, ever silent and attentive when Stiles speaks, days when Erica pulls him aside at school and hugs him tightly, days when Scott stops swooning over Allison and talks with him, days when Jackson and Lydia invite him out to a movie. Days when Derek will curl around him, arms secure around his waist. Days when Derek will become a wolf and Stiles will scratch his ears as he reads a book.

On those days he thinks about saying it, thinks about sending the words out into the universe to never be retracted but instead he settles for making breakfast in the morning.

They all seem to understand.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it :D


End file.
